Sodor After the War
by Puterboy1
Summary: One shots of Thomas and his friends lives after the events of The Adventures of Thomas.
1. Thomas and the Kindertransport Children

_10:10 a.m., Sunday, November 18_ _th_ _, 1951_

Toby the Tram Engine had recently been painted chocolate brown with blue sideplates as a reward for helping James the red and vain engine after his accident with some tar wagons. He was showing himself off to Thomas at the shed in Ffarquhar, where he asked.

"What do you think of my new livery?"

"Seems attractive," replied Thomas. "You could catch a lot of eyes with that colour."

"Thank you," smiled Toby.

Then Thomas asked.

"What made you pick these colors anyway?"

"I thought I could look as good as you, perhaps even outshining James' paintwork since none of my brothers had blue cowcatchers. Just boring, dull gray ones. And speaking of James, he called me and Henrietta dirty objects because of the way I looked, but after what happened to him, he won't be bothering me with that attitude again."

Thomas narrowed his eyes.

"I'll speak to him about it after I take Annie and Clarabel on my noon run."

When Thomas met James at Knapford junction at 12:00, he told him about Toby.

"I'm ashamed of you, James. Calling Toby and his coach dirty just because they needed some new paint? Your vanity has gone too far this time."

"Never mind," said James. "I know better now."

And he puffed away without another word.

Back at the sheds, that afternoon, Thomas told Toby about James.

"He says he knows better now, but I know he'll recover from his accident."

"And he'll be back to his old self, but probably a little wiser," added Toby. "He will learn to be friends with me just as I did with Edward and Percy."

A short while as they rested in the sun, Thomas said.

"You know, being friends with you reminds me of the time Christopher learned to make friends with other children brought over here by Sir Nicholas Winton."

"What does this Sir Nicholas have to do with this?"

"Sir Nicholas Winton saved 600 Jewish children from Nazi Germany," said Thomas.

"Care to tell us about it?" asked Annie, Clarabel and Henrietta from the carriage shed.

"It's a very dark tale," said Thomas. "One that speaks of barbarism and indignity. Things were very bad over in enemy territory, but we didn't know about any of these concentration camps until Gordon's driver told us from his ham friends that the Jewish people, including children, were being forced into slavery. They had to work extra hard. If they didn't, they would be killed...or so I've been told."

"How awful," said Toby with sympathy. "I had heard about these Nazis from my passengers and they were wicked! At least the lorries who worked on my old railway weren't as wicked as them."

"Exactly," replied Thomas. "The Nazis wanted it to be that way because they thought they were better than everyone else, but no one is perfect. Look at James, he thinks he's better than every other engine and he got his punishment when he crashed into those tar wagons. Anyway, about Sir Nicholas, he was dubbed the country's answer to Oskar Schindler, who as driver told me, also rescued a handful of Jews. Two years before Christopher came, a train arrived at Vicarstown to drop off a group of Czechoslovakian children. Some of them could not even speak English and hardly any of them were accompanied by their mothers and fathers. Gordon took half of them to boarding houses along the main line while I took the last three, who went by the names of Anna, Helmut and Josef back here to Ffarquhar."

"Did they like it here?" asked Toby.

"Those three found it to be very peaceful and not quite as rough as it was back in the old country. The schools taught them English as well as math and anatomy. When Christopher started to live here, he and my driver's daughter Diana became friends with the trio, especially Josef, who was about a year older than him. Over time, I began to see that Christopher was looking up to Josef as the older brother he never had. He was even growing distant from some of his London school friends who had escaped a sinking ship. I told him he should spend more time with me, but he refused."

"'Listen, Thomas,' he said. 'I haven't had a human friend to spend time with since Diana, and she's a girl.'"

"'She could also be your future wife,' I joked. Christopher just took this too seriously and stuck his tongue out at me. But he kept good behavior when Sir Nicholas visited the island to see how his 'children' were doing. Josef did the same and after that he invited Christopher and the other Jewish to a Sabbath. It took place over in the old house close to the level crossing that separates the town from the quarry. I soon put the older boys to work at the quarry so that they could earn their keep…with the Fat Director's permission of course."

"Did your director say anything…defensive about this?" asked Toby.

"He told me not to overwork them too hard, and that the decision would be the responsibility of his and the quarry manager's. But then some of them started complaining, comparing their jobs to what they thought the Nazis were doing to their parents back home. I tried to defend myself, but it was Christopher who told them: 'You're in a free country now, and we still have a war to win.' That made them behave better and Christopher soon got tired of being with Josef most of the time and he went straight back to me. After Christopher had gone home, some of the children, including Anna and Helmut, went back home as well, but some like Josef chose to stay behind to start a new life. He still works at the quarry now and he even still wears that star on his vest as a proud reminder of his heritage."

"I think I might I have seen Josef just the other day," Toby said. "He was wearing a star on his vest, just like you said."

"That's him," smiled Thomas. "And maybe he'll tell you his side of the story tomorrow when you take the workmen to the quarry."

Toby did just that the following day. He met Josef, who told him his side of the story and then corrected Toby about Thomas' take on how the Nazis treated his people. They were being exterminated out of pure hatred, but Toby was very certain that such atrocities like this would never happen to them again.


	2. A Day Out with Edward

_12:15 p.m., Sunday, July 27_ _th_ _, 1952_

Trevor the traction engine enjoyed working in the vicarage orchard. It was quiet, peaceful, full of beautiful apple trees and the very people he liked most of all, children, who would sometimes visit him at the church fête where he gives them rides on his wooden seat. His black paint shined in the sun along with his golden brass and his face was very friendly to those who met him.

A whole month had passed since Edward the blue engine had saved him from a terrible fate at Crocks Scrap Yard, with the additional help of the Vicar of Wellsworth, his two boys and Jem Cole the farmer. Last week, he got to meet Edward's friend Thomas, who he helped in the redevelopment of Knapford Harbour. Now, he was sitting in his shed, dozing happily in the sun when Edward came up alongside him.

"How do you do, Trevor?" the ex-Furness engine asked.

"It's a beautiful day and it's Sunday," Trevor said, not trying to sound too depressed. "All the children are at church with their families and the service seems to be taking a lot longer than usual. I'm the type of traction engine who has provided many gardens and rides with my kind of machinery and as I've told you before when we first met, I have never broken down in my entire life."

He looked out to the church in the distance.

"I wish I could discuss this with the Vicar's sons," he said solemnly. "They would understand me better."

The thought of male children brought a certain someone into Edward's smokebox.

"Christopher would have loved you."

Trevor's eyes widened, looking interested as he asked.

"Who is Christopher?"

"Christopher," explained Edward, "was a very special child who came to us about ten years ago. It was during the war and I was doing my part to help the war effort by delivering ammunition, laundry and medical supplies from Brendam to our soldiers over at the regiment base in Peel Godred. But more of that later. When I first met Christopher, I was asleep. I woke up to see him standing right in front of me, he gave me his full name as Christopher Awdry and it was not until later that I found out that he was the son of Wilbert Awdry, who came with me and Thomas when we relocated to Sodor during the first war."

"Like father, like son," remarked Trevor. "To have two descending members of a family coming to this island during two large scale wars is almost hereditary."

"I'll say it is," said Edward. "And due to his busy schedule, Christopher didn't bother asking me about what his father was like until about two years after his arrival. It was on a nice summer day like this, and the Vicar was offering to give me and some of the newer evacuees a tour of my branch line. Christopher decided to come with us as he had hardly ever visited or even worked at my branch line before. He thought he could use this as an opportunity to ask me more about Wilbert and he did so when we reached the harbour at Brendam."

"'I've been meaning to ask you, Edward,' he said to me. 'What was my father like when he came here?'"

"'He was a very kind soul,' I told him. 'And he too missed his father, your grandfather. Do you remember his name?'"

"'It was Vere. He's dead now.'"

"Christopher managed to push away his thought when we were told that a troupe of RAF pilots from Sheffield were coming over to entertain us with an air show."

"Did Christopher and the children like them?" Trevor asked out of the blue.

"Somewhat," Edward resumed. "They did twirls, loop-de-loops and roundabouts and all kinds of other things they did in their Spitfires and Hurricanes. After that was done, we got to meet the pilots, Christopher shook hands with them and they told him about what they did during the Battle of Britain."

"What did they do?"

"They took down of a couple of German bombers as well as a Stuka as it attempted to dive bomb some ground troops standing at the cliffs of Dover. Last I heard, the remains of that plane were still there on the rocks with its tail facing up. Afterwards, I took some of the children to Suddery where they toured the town and then all the way back to Wellsworth where I suddenly realized from that moment that I was getting old."

Edward paused, making that his memory was still as factual as it was supposed to be.

"Then again, it could have happened either earlier or later."

"What did you do?" asked Trevor.

"I told Christopher about it in private. Ever since that German zeppelin Hugo came to the railway for the beginning of the war, I began to have my moments of self-doubt, but in the end, it was Christopher who pulled me out of that jam. 'Edward,' he said. 'Don't feel too sad if you're getting old and weary, just think of the positive things. Even if bad things do happen you can still live and if you worked harder, you can prove to me, yourself and the Fat Director that you will never be useless in our eyes or anyone else's.'"

Edward paused again, letting in a breath of air relax his past woes as he remembered Christopher's kind words.

"I felt better after that until Gordon told me more about what his driver's ham radio friends had learned from enemy activity up in the war office. Earlier that morning, he told me about a retirement resort in Oranienburg called Sachsenhausen, which we later found out was a concentration camp. When I got back he was telling me and Christopher about other things the Nazis did for a living…like bullying people because they were different…But it was far worse than that."

"I remember my master keeping me up to date with wartime activity back on the mainland. I was in the countryside and I thought it best to push it aside when I gave rides to the city children who were being evacuated from Birmingham and Cambridge."

"But," Edward resumed. "Christopher seemed to like my branch line and offered to spend the next few days there, helping me and the other workers at Brendam."

The voice of Jem Cole prevented Edward from continuing.

"Come on, Trevor!" he said. "The kids are waiting for you."

"I had better get going," Trevor said. "Maybe you can tell me more about Christopher another time."

And off Edward puffed and once he was completely gone from sight, Trevor was making his way to the church. He told the children all about Christopher and while they found it interesting, Edward was spending the rest of his day wondering if he would ever see Christopher again.

But that's another story.


	3. Henry's Present

_3:33 p.m. Tuesday, March 3_ _rd_ _, 1953_

Henry the Green Engine had lived on the Island of Sodor for 34 years and would have never wanted to be anywhere else. He liked all of his friends who lived on the railway and even the natural beauty of the island from the fields of flowers with grass that shared the colour of his paint, the white sandy beaches and even the forests that he passed along the main line. Among these places, Henry would sometimes just stand there on a siding and let the peaceful ambience sooth his worries over life and troubles.

His driver and fireman, who understood him better, agreed with this by letting Henry sit at the siding in Crovan's Gate where he could look at the tall pines that extended all the way to the Skarloey Railway and beyond. They, on the other hand, would stop to rest and have some tea in the station.

"It's always nice to get out for a little peace of mind," he would say to himself.

Henry could remember the day he and Christopher picked out a present for Christopher's father Wilbert's birthday, the first one he would have without him. It was the night of June 10th, 1941 and Christopher and the engines were resting in Tidmouth Sheds as strong winds had whipped around the doors and windows, rattling the roof. They had only heard from the radio that the 15th Punjab Regiment had captured the Ethopian city of Assab from the Italians, yet their leader, Benito Mussolini was claiming that the United States had been in a de facto state of war with the Axis powers, adding that they would never save England. Vichy Vice-Premier François Darlan had also given a speech to his people, saying that the communism would bring nothing but disorder to his country, but that was only the least of the engine family's troubles.

"Can any of you hear a strange whistling sound?" asked Thomas.

"It's just the wind," moaned Gordon. "But I am most absolutely sure that I have heard something like this before."

"You know," said James. "The only times I ever hear this kind of wind is when I'm going at top speed…yet it feels quitter when I do it."

"Whatever you say," shivered Percy. "I certainly would not want to be out there. I could get blown away."

"Only if it was a very strong gale," chucked Edward.

"What do you think about it, Christopher?" asked Henry.

Then he noticed Christopher looking solemn as he was sitting up with his head tilted downwards. His knees were up to his chest with his arms wrapped around them and his entire body, save for his head, was covered by his black blanket. With his eyes staring into the dark fabric, Christopher muttered.

"I can't believe Daddy's birthday to tomorrow."

By morning, the RAF had bombed the Rhineland and the United States had quickly informed Portugal with a note requesting to take evasive action should the Cape Verde Islands be threatened by enemy forces. Henry came to see Christopher in the yards, but Christopher felt sad. He was staring out at the ocean, sitting there in that same position as last night.

"What will my father do on his first birthday without me?" he thought outloud.

Henry overheard this. He understood that while Christopher was willing to wait until the end of the war for his father to be home, the absence that Wilbert had left behind was starting to take it's toll again. It was making Henry sad as well, so he puffed his way over to the Fat Director's office over at Tidmouth Station.

"Hello, Henry. You do look glum."

"I'm sad for Christopher," explained Henry. "Today is his father's birthday and they won't be together to celebrate it. Do you have any ideas that could help him?"

"I suppose," said the Fat Director. "How about this for a task, Henry? I would like you and Christopher to find a tree in the forest outside Crovan's Gate, look for a small one, and give it to Christopher so he can post it to his father, wherever he is."

When Henry went back to Christopher and explained the task to him, the boy's mood seemed to brighten.

"I guess it would help…to make me feel better."

"Now that is just what I wanted to hear," Henry smiled at the boy's words.

When they went to Crovan's Gate, Henry's crew and Christopher walked all over the forest for a small tree, yet very few of them seemed satisfactory. Finally, Christopher found a small pine tree that was just the right size to fit into his hands.

"Look at what I found, Henry!" he said once he got back to the station. "Father told me that a tree represents peace and maybe if I give it to him, he'll find his own. But I know it won't bring him back home. Not until the entire war is over."

Christopher then shipped the tree over to the KOYLI barracks in York, hoping that his father would find it there waiting for him when he got back. The tree however, had not been given directly to Wilbert by the time he got back, for the caretakers saw it best to have it treated like any other tree.

Now whenever Henry thinks of Christopher, he thinks of that tree, which was planted in the courtyard of the barracks, growing strong and tall. Sometimes it was very quiet without the troops marching around it, but the magic of Sodor that the tree had taken with it brought peace to even the hardest of soldiers who could hear leaves rustling or a bird's wing brushing in the air. At other times they would stop by to take care of it and when Christopher and Wilbert visited the barracks after the war, they always knew that Henry's happiness would find them there.


	4. Gordon and the Butcher's Son

_4:44 p.m. Sunday, April 4_ _th_ _, 1954_

Gordon always pulled the Wild nor Wester, seeing as he was the only engine strong enough to do so. It was full of people of England, Wales and Scotland, as well as Sir Topham Hat II, whom they now called "the Fat Controller". He starts from Tidmouth at punctually 3:30 and by now he was on the home run. When he returned to Tidmouth Station, prepared with a special coach for those who wanted to travel on Thomas' Branch Line, he could have sworn to see a young boy that he not seen for the longest time.

"Christopher?" he asked.

The boy turned round, he had red hair, freckled cheeks and was slightly portly. Judging by his age, he looked no older than ten. It also sounded like he had a Northern Ireland accent.

"Yes, sa?"

Gordon fully registered the boy's face and blushed.

"My apologies," the big blue engine said, trying not sound embarrassed. "It's just that you reminded me of someone…from long ago."

The Irish kid seemed uninterested by the remark.

"No need to, I was jus' waitin' for me dad. He's a butcher."

The mere mention of a father softened Gordon's boiler.

"Now you really do remind me of someone."

"Who was he?" the ginger headed boy asked.

"Christopher Awdry. A young lad who came to us during the war. He worked on us, fixed us, helped us with our problems, being really useful hither and thither. However, his father was in the military rather than in…the butchery."

"Well," added the boy of red. "Me dad was in the army too, but he cooked for the British Army. Not to mention he also sent out rations of meat and cheese to the Brits, even though he told me Ireland was a neutral state back then."

"Smart child," Gordon was bemused. "I suppose I could have time to tell you about the time Christopher tried to be a waiter for my express. It was the year before he left, during the D-Day invasion. Christopher had developed an interesting taste in Italian food and he wanted to tell the Fat Director if he could add such dishes to the restaurant car. He refused at first, because at the time Italy and Britain were enemies. Still, he was looking forward to finding a way of ending the war a lot quicker by telling people that even though Italians were bad, their food was good. After begging me, my driver and my guard to work on the express as a waiter, Christopher was soon given the skills he needed to prepare the food by a very experienced cook."

"Did he cook all sorts of Italian food?" asked the boy.

"That he did. He helped Christopher with meals like spaghetti and chicken cacciatore. The food would be served in the restaurant car, while the cooking and preparing went on in a small kitchen at the very end of the coach. All he had to do, from what he told me, was boil the pasta, make sure it was flimsy enough to be served, place the sauce on top of it and then serve it. The waiter, who had helped him with the first few meals, explained that he had gotten his recipes from a trip to Rome before the war. He even made his own personal cookbook of foreign foods and whatnot from France, Spain, even South America."

"He must be very cultured," the boy exclaimed.

"That he was," Gordon went on. "He found it best to find some form of fame and stardom here as Sodor's most-well known chef. On Christopher's first day of the job, Diana would not stop gushing over the way he looked in his white jacket and black trousers. Said he looked like the Duke of Windsor. The events of that day went smoothly, until I came across a bend and Christopher nearly spilled a cup of water over a most respectable client of the ammunitions industry from Peel Godred who was on his way back from a meeting at the big station. Christopher apologized and with the waiter's help, he quickly cooked up the last meal for the day."

"Spaghetti?" asked the boy.

"Yes, of course it was. The man loved it so much that he even asked for another dish to be reserved for the next time he took the express. For the next couple of days while Christopher worked, he also crafted other dishes like Polish sausages, salads with swiss cheese and even baked Alaska."

The boy's mouth would have nearly drooled at these honorable mentions, but he kept a stiff-upper lip and proceeded to ask.

"What else did he bake?"

"Many other selections that came off the menu. With the usual cakes, shortbread and bags of tea from the Refreshment Lady on the Skarloey Railway. Christopher also helped her with managing the shop whenever he visited the narrow-gauge engines. And when he visited the Culdee Fell engines, he served drinks on cold days at Summit Hotel. He even prepared the foods for Duke's picnic on his railway before it closed. I can only imagine that when left, he took some recipes with him, especially since he is now old enough to cook for himself. And since you're the son of a butcher, maybe you can take my story as a form of inspiration should you wish to follow your father's footsteps."

"I would," said the boy. "But I think another path has been set for me…driving engines. I'm fascinated by trains."

Gordon had little words to say, but his response was a positive one.

"You would make a very fine driver, indeed."

At the end of the day, all Gordon wanted in return was to stroll his weary wheels onto a siding and rest. He slept for about twenty minutes when Percy came in, whistling.

"Hurry up, Gordon! The train's ready!"

Gordon shot his eyes awake, thinking he was late. Percy just laughed and showed him a train of dirty coal trucks. Gordon was now thinking of a way to pay Percy out, but that's another story.


	5. James' Colors

_5:55 p.m., Thursday, May 5_ _th_ _, 1955_

When Duck the Great Western Engine arrived on the Island of Sodor, he was met with scorn and ribaldry from the big engines who saw him as a simpleton, including James. But eventually, after Duck and Percy blocked their way to the sheds and Percy went away to work on Thomas' branch line, they grew fond of Duck, and were interested in hearing his stories about the Great Western Railway. Afterwards they were starting to get tired of it and when James was coming back into Tidmouth Sheds around this time, Duck was already there.

"This won't do, James," he said. "You can't keep rejecting the Fat Controller's requests to have you pull goods trains. If you took this too far, he'll have to send you packing."

"He wouldn't dare!" scoffed James. "The Fat Controller knows I'm such a splendid red engine, and besides, trucks are nothing but a pain in the tender. They're dirty, they're troublesome, and they are completely incapable of shutting up!"

"True," mused Duck. "But not all trucks can be that troublesome. Some of them actually understand their place in life. Thank goodness we had little of those back on the Great Western Railway, otherwise everything would be upside down."

James just rolled his eyes.

"If you are going to tell me a story, the least you can do is not brag about it."

"I never brag about my railway, I respect it with honor."

"As that very well may be," snorted James. "I think honor is becoming overrated. It reminds me of the time some of our men came home during the final stages of the war, they talked of nothing but honor and tributes that were dedicated to Britain."

"As did we on the Great Western," replied Duck. "A year before the war, when I worked at Paddington station, I knew of a young man who liked to take his son trainspotting at all the big stations in London. One of those days, he came without the child on his way to work, when I heard him and a group of other military men conscripting civilians in the event of war. That man told the officers it would be an honor to fight alongside them should the war ever come and it did."

James reflected on another detail.

"Did this man have a son named Christopher?"

"I can't seem to remember," said Duck searching his memory. "But why do you ask?"

"Christopher was a young boy who came to live with us during the war, all the way up to ten years ago."

"That long?"

"Yes, and it made a man out of him."

Duck switched to another subject.

"Well, I don't suppose he could be here to listen to my tale about honor when the BEF managed to get out of Dunkirk in one piece…or pieces. Shortly after the first rescue boat came to Dover, I was assigned to collect the soldiers when there not enough engines available to retrieve them. I even had the chance to pull the Super Saloons. These were Great Western coaches all named after the Royal Family. They usually served the Ocean Liner Express, but this was an emergency. Before I even knew it, I was travelling and stopping at all the stations back to London. There were even soldiers in the guard's post. My wheels were going as fast as they could but driver thought best to slow me down, said it would prevent the risk of adding further injury to the soldiers who had been hurt. Of course, I ran under driver and fireman's rules, but they didn't know about the strain on my boiler until it was too late."

"You mean you burst a valve?" asked James morbidly.

"No," continued Duck. "It was just my boiler overheating from too much puffing, I was out of breath and my face turning red, but I had to go on. I took another yard, then another and then another and before I knew it I was back at Paddington."

James, believing that Duck was finished with his tale, took the short time to answer.

"That was a nice story, Duck."

"I'm only nearly finished. My controller thought I did such a good deed that he had me mended and let me take the rest of the soldiers home for a whole week. There is a reason why our mottos are 'God guides us' and 'virtue and work', it comes with a reward, and, as I had just mentioned, was my reward."

James thought his following contribution to morale of Duck's tale would be quite fair.

"My reward is usually a new coat of paint and when I was painted black for wartime, I could never bare it. Why I remember the time Christopher tricked me into thinking I get my red coat again if I did a good job. He and the Fat Director asked me to pull coal trucks for an entire month and I agreed."

"How surprising, coming from you," Duck was bewildered.

"Christopher did say he would paint me red again as a reward. A whole week had passed, two weeks of cattle, three weeks of ammunition and I still wasn't getting my red coat back. Finally, Christopher told me that it doesn't matter what color I had to wear."

"You must have gotten a truck's load of reprimanding from his little mouth," teased Duck.

James glared at him before continuing.

"When I was moaning to be red again, Christopher suggested other colors that he thought would suit me so well," he said with a sarcastic drip. "First it was blue, then it was green, then purple, yellow, orange and photographic grey. I couldn't bear wearing such a dull color like photographic grey on my body. When I went to the works to be painted, there were no other colors but military green and the dreadful black that I was already wearing. I suppose Christopher did this to spite me, but he told me that I had to be black for the rest of the war. I thought it would go on forever, but in time I got used to wearing black and when the war ended, red felt like a long-lost friend to me."

"Really?" laughed Duck, not believing what he had heard.

"Yes," said James, seriously. "To make a long story short, I learned that it didn't matter if I was painted blue or green or black as long as I was really useful, so I said nothing about my paintwork and did my jobs until I finally got my red paint back and…"

"You went back to boasting again," interrupted Duck. "I can't imagine why you had to have such a recursive personality, James. All it ever does for you is heighten your vanity."

And he puffed off to look for some trucks to put away.

James had to admit that Duck had a point about his vanity, but at the same time, he still remembered Christopher's opinions about it and thought it best not to boast anymore…at least until next week when he made it occasional.


	6. Percy's D-Day Tale

_6:06 a.m. Wednesday, June 6_ _th_ _, 1956_

Percy enjoyed working on Thomas' branch lines. It had many fantastic sights, such as the River Els, the neighboring cricket field, and of course, the airfield at Dryaw where Harold the Helicopter lived. Harold was one of those RAF pilot-like speakers who thought that railways were "slow and out of date", but a race between him and Percy with his train of stone trucks soon proved him wrong.

Today marked the twelfth anniversary of the D-Day Invasion of Normandy Beach, and Percy could remember hearing all about it from his driver, who had heard it from a radio. The tales of violence, the explosions, the guns and the American army's strong efforts to liberate the neighboring country of France had fascinated Percy, and just for fun, he liked telling his own version of events on almost every anniversary, claiming that he became a temporary submarine to help guide the allied boats through tough waters. Thomas, Toby and their coaches were starting to get tired of it. Even Bertie, Terence and Caroline complained about it.

"We all know you weren't there," they groaned.

But Percy, undaunted, was determined to make his story more believable.

Later that day, he saw Harold close to the track at the airfield.

"Hello, Percy," buzzed Harold. "Fancy another race? I heard they're bringing veterans over from across the pond. From that battle in Omaha, they say."

Percy was interested. He quickly thought up his tall tale.

"I'm sure you'll be happy to know that these veterans seem to know…me."

But Harold was doubtful.

"What makes you think that these veterans are familiar with you?"

"Remember when you told me that I was a wizard at being a submarine? Well, I just happened to be an _allied_ submarine that managed to bring in more troops from the depths. It was a dark and rainy day, and I was on my last propellers. There they were, the dreadful Germans firing at us from above, but I managed to deflect them off with my plated hull…or was it my boiler. No matter. Anyway, one of our best soldiers Christopher Awdry and his father Wilbert, led the Americans and some English participants past the soldiers on the beach who were struggling to get their way into enemy territory. Frankly, it was a horrible sight to see with so many body around, but I worked to the breaking point of exhaustion to get those troops in there and then go back for more. After the battle, the general gave me a gold medal for heroic service to the British forces."

Harold halted Percy's story there.

"And where is this medal now?"

Percy's eyes looked about. He hadn't thought about this peculiar detail.

"I….lost it?"

"A likely story," Harold sniffed. "But this is one story that I don't find believable in any way at all."

And with his rotors spinning wildly, Harold took off for the skies.

"So much for the likes of him believing me," Percy muttered.

About 50 minutes after his last train to the quarry, he arrived back at Knapford Harbour to witness the arrival of the veterans by a tiny boat. It reminded them of the small boats that had transported them to Omaha Beach. They walked steadily onto the quay, some of them were impatient and others were reluctant in talking about their experiences. Some groups of children who were on a school field trip and relatives who lived on the mainland accompanied them, asking questions, a couple of which were deemed inappropriate. It was Thomas who bought these children via Annie and Clarabel, knowing very well that Percy was going to make a fool of himself with his outlandish tale.

But unfortunately, on his part, Percy was standing by the platform.

Determined, Thomas asked.

"You're not going to tell them your lies, aren't you?"

"Not today, Thomas," Percy sighed. "Not even Harold believed me. I don't think Christopher would have believed me either."

Hearing his name made Thomas tense, perhaps even sad. But then, he replied.

"I'm sure Christopher would believe you…if not just for the fun of believing you. But for now, I think what those children should hear from you is the truth."

After the children left Annie and Clarabel, they proceeded to ask their questions to the veterans and they responded respectfully. To some of the more ill-thought-of question, they chose silence or for a better answer, a simple sentence of "That is something I cannot answer".

Hearing all of these people enhanced Percy's knowledge of what had happened on that faithful day. He thought about making his version of events more accurate, but his inner conscience told him a simple "no." And so, with a deep breath, Percy told some of the children nearby on what he really did on that historic day.

"It was nothing special really. Driver and fireman were listening to the events on radio in the afternoon and I was the only one in the shed while the other engines were working. Eventually, Christopher came over aboard Thomas and told me about it. The both of us could only imagine that was the bloodiest and most violent tackle we could ever think of. He decided to take me out and do some shunting in the yard, and it helped to get my mind off of the war for the rest of the day. He shunted trucks, put away the coaches, and we even got Gordon's own train ready…."

But only a few, including the soldiers heard everything he said, and some of them stopped listening after the tale had dragged on a little.

Afterwards, the afternoon came with a slight temperature drop and it was time for the soldiers to return home. Percy's driver whistled a huge farewell as the little boat drifted off into the distance.

Back at the shed in Ffarquhar, Thomas asked Percy.

"So, what have we learned?"

"Not to twist the truth," was what Percy replied to his friend. "But I do admit, it felt better telling it, even if it was uneventful."


End file.
